Close, But Not Touching
by fabala-fae
Summary: "Full of Hope"- Carter and Deb prepare for the arrival of the baby, and adjust to living together...
1. Part 1 - And the Moon Lights the Night

Title: Close, But Not Touching (1/9)  
  
Rating: Ehh, I'll go with R, mild smut towards the end and a healthy dose of language throughout.  
  
Spoilers: Through "Never Say Never." I used to have it set in season 7, but due to my own laziness and ER's insistence on messing with the characters I happen to write about, I scrapped the first part and started again.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone from ER, NBC does, yadda yadda yadda. Except Jerry, cause I bought him on EBay a few years back and now he answers *my* phone calls. (I bet you wondered where he went, right?) And oh yeah, Malucci's being shipped to my address as we speak . . . now I'm saving up for Carter. ;)  
  
Notes: The setting is right after the JC/JMC hug on the roof. This chapter is told from Deb's point of view.  
  
------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
  
We stood there for a long time in that embrace, Carter and I, and in a few moments my tears had subsided. "What a shitty day," I mumbled into his shoulder.  
  
"Oh, I don't know about that," Carter chuckled, and I looked up at him in horror. "Oh, well, I mean . . . of course it was a shitty day, you're leaving and everything-"  
  
"It's all right, Carter, I saw the stupid French girl," I muttered.  
  
"What stupid French girl?" he asked innocently.  
  
"You know who I'm talking about, the stupid French girl who's coming between Dr. Kovac and Abby. The one who's securing their break-up. The cookie girl . . ."  
  
"I love the stupid French girl," Carter admitted with a grin. "Did I mention how much I love the stupid French girl?"  
  
"Yeah, well, now you and Abby can officially be together and quit with the under-the-gurney footsies," I said as I hugged him tighter. The comfort was still there, as was Carter's valuable body warmth.  
  
"What is this footsies you speak of?" Carter asked. God, it was depressing to lament to a man this giddy.  
  
"It was my foot this afternoon, Carter," I informed him with a sly smile. He consequently blushed. "It's all right, everyone knows about you two."  
  
"It's just taken a long time, is all," Carter told me. "They'd been seeing each other for almost a year now."  
  
"You've been waiting in the wings for almost a year?" I asked, surprised. "You could have had several relationships in that time - and some of them could have been of legal drinking age!"  
  
Carter shoved me playfully. "Funny," he remarked. "That's reeeeal funny. You're a laugh riot, Deb."  
  
A tinge went down my spine as he said my school name. "It's Jing-Mei," I replied, shoving him back just as playfully (and perhaps a little flirtatiously?). "Everyone else uses it, you should too."  
  
"I've known you longer than anyone else, I'm allowed," he informed me.  
  
"Dr. Greene has known me for just as long and he hasn't called me Deb." He actually called me Dr. Chen, but that didn't matter.  
  
"He didn't call you Deb to begin with - he called you 'Hey you,' just like he called me," Carter chuckled.  
  
"He did not," I defended. "He called me Deb, and he called you Carter."  
  
"All right, tomorrow when we see him we'll ask him what he used to call you," Carter told me. The realization hit us both as soon as he said it. I wouldn't be back tomorrow.  
  
"I shouldn't have quit," I murmured, suddenly subdued. "I should have just taken whatever Weaver was dishing out with a smile. Being demoted isn't so bad."  
  
"Then stay," Carter urged. "It won't be so bad. You'll just have to do some grunt work for a while -"  
  
"I can't, Carter -"  
  
" -it's just a minor setback -"  
  
"Carter -"  
  
" - you'll be an Attending before you know it-"  
  
"Carter!" I finally exclaimed, and he stopped talking to look at me. "I can't come back. Even if Weaver hadn't screwed me over . . . even if I was still Chief Resident . . . I don't know if I could work here with that guilt."  
  
"It wasn't your fault, Deb," Carter told me softly, and he looked into my eyes with that expression, the one that made you weak at the knees and turn into a melted puddle of mush at his feet. It was sorrowful yet sympathetic - concerned yet contemplative. "You know that, right?"  
  
I shrugged. "I've really talked about this enough for a long time, if you don't mind. After being hung out to dry by Weaver and accused of manslaughter by Romano, I'm really tired of it."  
  
Carter nodded and pulled me closer to him. "I understand," he told me.  
  
We stood together on the rooftop for several minutes, each of us deep in thought about one thing or another. "I'm probably keeping you from something," I finally said, not really caring if I was or not.  
  
"Nah."  
  
"Isn't Abby waiting for you?" I inquired, but the teasing wasn't appreciated anymore. I only got a glare from him. "I'm sorry."  
  
"That's all right. It's better than the Rena jokes," Carter commented as he hugged me closer.  
  
That teasing comment should have been funny, and in another place and time I probably would have had an equally smart-ass reply. But it wasn't and I didn't - and all of I sudden I felt more depressed than ever before.  
  
Carter must have sensed my sudden disheartenment. "You ok?" he asked, concerned.  
  
My instinct would have been to smile and nod, but the tears were suddenly back and there was no hiding them. "No," I admitted with a whisper. "I have nothing left."  
  
"Well, you can contact Northwestern, I've got the number -"  
  
"I mean in life, Carter," I blurted out. "This job was all I had. God, how pathetic - I'm almost 30 years old and already I'm Kerry Weaver."  
  
"Oh come on, you're not Weaver," Carter reprimanded. "And besides, you're only 28. You've got plenty of time to start making a life outside of work."  
  
I broke away from his embrace with something that felt like anger. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?!"  
  
Carter stared at me, confused. "I'm . . . not . . . sure . . ." he said cautiously.  
  
I sighed and leaned with my back against the wall. "I'm sorry. It's just . . . I don't know . . . what if all my opportunities have passed me by? What if the man I'm supposed to marry has already come and gone because I was too busy to notice him? What if Michael was my only chance to have a child, and I gave him up because of my stupid prejudiced family? What's left for me now that I'm not even focused on my career anymore?"  
  
Carter seemed to be thinking this over. "I guess that depends on what you believe about fate. You've always been a practical person - I never would have pegged you for someone who believes our lives are out of our control, and being controlled by the whimsy of fate."  
  
"You're not helping," I complained bitterly.  
  
"Well, if what you're saying about fate is true, then what the hell are we doing as doctors? Fate would take place no matter how many minutes we resumed compressions, or what drugs we pushed, or how many times we look at an X ray." I shot him a glare at this one. "What I mean is . . . I don't think fate exists as prevalently as you think. We defy fate every day whenever we save someone's life," Carter rationalized.  
  
"Well, what if they're just destined to live?" I asked as I put my hands in my pockets. "What if we've go no say in the matter? We may just be a tool to help fate along."  
  
"No. I don't believe that." Carter was shaking his head adamantly - apparently he'd already considered this idea. "I see too many variables between life and death every day for me to believe that the control is out of my hands." He eyed me carefully. "Where is all this coming from?"  
  
"Losing the only part of my life that gets me out of bed in the morning tends to make me reanalyze my future," I muttered, shuffling my feet in the gravel. "I mean, I used to think that if I did well as a doctor and helped as many people as I could, then maybe I could forget that I go home alone every night. Or that the only proof that I even existed lives with another mother and father and is growing up perfectly fine without me. I mean, honestly - what if I never have another chance to be a mother . . . or to be happy, for that matter?"  
  
Carter moved closed to me and put an arm around my shoulders. "I think that the what ifs of life should be what get you out of bed in the morning. A big part of living life is living the unknown. If anything really is predestined, there's no point in even living."  
  
I chuckled and relaxed in his arms. "Someone saw 'Serendipity' this weekend," I teased.  
  
"Abby made me go," he admitted.  
  
"Of course," I mused with a sly smile. "But do you see what I mean? You've got Abby, Luka's got the stupid French girl, and I've got no one. *No* one!"  
  
Carter looked at me with a straight face that threatened to break into a smile. "You can learn a lesson from John Cusack movies. There's a perfect someone for everyone." He grinned. "Even weary, worn-out doctors like us."  
  
I rolled my eyes and elbowed him in the ribs playfully. "Now you're just sounding like a lame Hallmark card," I sighed.  
  
"Well, maybe it's true. After all, we're still young and vaguely attractive, despite our exhausting work hours."  
  
"Yeah, speak for yourself," I muttered. Oh, fabulous. Out comes the self- consciousness.  
  
"Aww, what are you talking about, you're gorgeous," Carter said fondly.  
  
"No, actually, I look as tired as a single mother but I don't have a child - I look overworked but I don't have a job - and I've made zero effort in keeping up my appearance since I'm destined to become a spinster for the rest of my life."  
  
"Well, you could have fooled me, because you're beautiful." Somehow, Carter's stubbornness when insisting on giving a compliment was more annoying than if he hadn't bothered at all.  
  
"Whatever," I grumbled, kicking a rock against the wall. "You don't have to say that, you're not my boyfriend or anything."  
  
"I'm your best friend," Carter informed me. "And besides, that doesn't matter - I'd say it anyway because it's the truth."  
  
This comment struck me - not just because of his cheesy save, but because he referred to me as his best friend. "I thought Abby was your best friend," I said uncertainly.  
  
"Abby's a good friend," Carter admitted. "But . . . I don't know . . . you're different."  
  
"Different . . . how?" I was curious to see how he'd weasel out of this one.  
  
"Well . . . I don't know, I guess I don't love Abby like I love you -"  
  
"Wait!" I exclaimed, turning to face him directly. "You . . . you love me?"  
  
Carter averted his eyes and shrugged, obviously embarrassed about divulging his feelings. That's how Carter was - he didn't realize that he'd said too much until he'd already said it.  
  
"Carter . . ." I teased with a grin. "Come on . . . you love me?"  
  
"As my best friend, yeah," Carter murmured, but there was no mistaking the growing smile on his face.  
  
"Aw, Carter loves me," I exclaimed, hugging him around the middle. "How cute!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, you're a laugh and a half tonight," he chuckled, hugging me back.  
  
Obviously I knew he didn't love me in the romantic sense - that would just be silly. But it was kind of sweet to see him blush when he admitted he loved me as a friend. "If it makes you feel any better," I offered, "I love you as my best friend, too."  
  
Carter grinned sheepishly - I could tell he was still sort of embarrassed.  
  
"It's a good thing we don't *love* each other," I chuckled, moving in closer to his face jokingly. "Otherwise this might mean something."  
  
I kissed him softly, jokingly, just to be silly - Carter's surprised look was classic! But he didn't look surprised for long, and instead I was shocked to find him quickly reciprocate the kiss. I tried to cut it off - honestly, I had every intention of cutting it off . . . this was getting out of control . . .  
  
But suddenly, I didn't want to.  
  
I found myself eagerly kissing him now, all thoughts that screamed WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?? were gone from my mind as I wrapped my arms around his neck and deepened the rapidly escalating kiss. This was nice. No, it was more than nice. 'Definitely more than nice,' I concluded as I felt Carter's tongue slip inside my mouth. His hands went to the side of my neck and I was shocked to find how turned on I was becoming -  
  
And then it ended.  
  
I stared at Carter with as much awe as he was staring at me. "See?" I managed to whisper, trying to catch my breath. "Nothing at all."  
  
"Nothing," Carter breathed, and in a second we were kissing the hell out of each other again.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Frantically I rummaged through my purse with one hand, searching for the keys to my apartment. This was especially difficult since Carter was pressing me against the apartment door and kissing me forcefully. The kisses had changed from sweet and passionate to quick and frantic - it was like each other's lips were the most delicious things we'd ever tasted, and with each passing second we couldn't get enough of the taste.  
  
The cab ride had been significantly less R rated, unless you counted the slight but considerably inappropriate groping that had occurred. My giggling hadn't helped matters - the cab driver had been watching us in the rearview mirror and his expression had been one of combined fondness and worry. I had felt like assuring him that no, we weren't going to have sex in his cab, but frankly I had been slightly distracted . . .  
  
Then there had been the elevator, and the small of my back was still slightly sore from being pressed into the buttons on the wall. But in the moment I hadn't even noticed it - I had been busy trying to keep my balance and to savor the feeling of Carter's hands on my back and his lips on my neck . . .  
  
And now, in front of my apartment, while one hand was locating my keys in my purse, my other hand was under Carter's shirt, holding on for support if not pleasure. His hands were pressed against the door on either side of my head, and I regrettably broke the kiss off to turn around and unlock the door. This didn't stop Carter - soon he was kissing the back of my neck so softly and rhythmically that it made my skin tingle.  
  
The door opened then and I stumbled through with Carter right behind me. "Watch it!" I giggled, and Carter wrapped his arms around my waist from the back and kissed my neck.  
  
I sighed in pleasure; quickly I turned around and eagerly kissed him on the mouth. Carter responded hungrily, and before my mind could fully recover from this ecstasy he took his hands off my waist and pulled my coat from my shoulders in one rapid movement. Impressed, I tried the same with his, but succeeded only in yanking him away from my lips. "Ow," he complained.  
  
"I'm sorry," I giggled, taking his coat off more carefully this time. After the feat was completed I moved in for another kiss - Carter ran his hands through my hair and we melted into the passion.  
  
We were becoming steamier with each kiss, and soon we had made our way to my sofa. Slowly Carter pressed me to the cushion - one hand was up my shirt and the other was running through my hair. Both of my hands were wrapped around his neck, and the situation suddenly held the essence of a high school make-out session. Which was fine with me - hell, I hadn't had some in a while, who was I to be picky?  
  
As Carter's lips moved to my neck and slowly down my chest, a thought suddenly came to my mind - "Dr. Carter rocks my world!" and I collapsed with giggles.  
  
Carter lifted his head and looked at me with puzzlement. "What's so funny?" he demanded.  
  
"Nothing, nothing," I assured him with a chuckle, and I leaned up to kiss him. Carter moved back up to my face and pressed his body against mine . . . I reached down to unbuckle his belt . . .  
  
And something suddenly began to feel not quite right.  
  
I cut the kiss off abruptly and moved my face to the side. "Carter, hold on a minute," I told him, but his lips never moved from the side of my neck.  
  
"Carter . . ." I attempted to push him off of me, but to no avail. "Uggghhh . . . Carter, hold on for a minute!"  
  
He looked up, surprised. "What's wrong?" Carter asked, rolling to the side of the couch.  
  
I ran my fingers through my hair and sat up. "I don't think this is right," I murmured, flipping on the nearby lamp. "We shouldn't be doing this."  
  
Carter was tracing his fingers up and down my side, from my breast to my stomach. "Yes, we should," he concluded.  
  
"No, Carter," I muttered, and I pushed his hand away. "It isn't right. I'm only doing this because I'm upset and it's not right to drag you through this kind of emotional struggle."  
  
"I don't mind, trust me," he assured me, his fingers tracing the nape of my neck.  
  
"Come on, Carter," I muttered, pushing his hand away again. "We're doing this for all the wrong reasons. Just because I haven't had sex in a long time or because I'm upset over losing my job . . . I don't want to jeopardize our friendship."  
  
"It won't," he told me, but I could sense the same hesitation in his voice that I felt in mine. Carter sat up and finally took his hands off me. "But if you don't want to . . . I understand. I don't want to pressure you into anything you don't want to do."  
  
I looked at him with genuine misery. He had no idea how badly I wanted to do this. Carter had always been attractive to me, but for the first time I found him incredibly sexy and sensual. He had been so soft and caring tonight, yet passionate; a night with Carter would definitely get my spirits up. After all, it wouldn't be the first time I'd had sex without any romantic inclinations, and I guessed that it wouldn't be Carter's first, either. But there was something about how obsessed he was with Abby Lockhart . . . something about how happy he'd been when she and Luka broke up, and how flirty he was when she was around . . . A girl doesn't like for a man to pretend she's someone else while they're making love. It's a general rule of sex, or of relationships for that matter. Even if this was just a fling - even if this night was the only time Carter and I would sleep together - it wouldn't be right to go through with it if we both were in it for the very wrong reasons.  
  
Apparently I had been silent for quite a while, because Carter's next words were solemn - "I guess this is my cue to leave." He waited a second or so, presumably for me to change my mind, then stood up and quickly left the apartment with only a "bang" of the door.  
  
As soon as he left I collapsed onto the couch and pressed my fists into my eyes. This was entirely too much emotional strife for one person, for one day. First I lose my job, then I almost sleep with Carter - what the hell was wrong with my cosmic karma?  
  
The tingling in my body that I hadn't noticed before was beginning to subside, and the first question that came to my mind was 'I wonder if Carter's still in the building?'  
  
'He's probably not even in the elevator yet,' I thought, stretching my suddenly empty hands over my head.  
  
The next question that inevitably followed was 'Did you make the right choice?'  
  
"Of course I did," I answered out loud. "It was wrong for us to drown our problems in sex."  
  
'Just do it.' The thought was surprisingly clear to me.  
  
"Arrrggg," I grumbled, pressing my fists into my eyes again. "I'm not going to sleep with Carter just to get my mind off my problems."  
  
'Fuck that, you know you're wrong. You can still catch him. Just do it.'  
  
"Now I'm answering to the voices in my head," I muttered. "This is a good sign, all right."  
  
'Stop thinking and just do it.'  
  
This alter ego's startling clarity was alarming to me, and silently I thought 'It will ruin our friendship.'  
  
'Your friendship is already pretty fucking ruined. Plus you're leaving County anyway. Burn your bridges while they're still hot enough to be burned.'  
  
I took my hands away from my eyes and considered this. Carter would probably be sleeping alone now, as would I. And if he was half as turned on as I was . . .  
  
Aw, the hell with it.  
  
Rapidly I sprang up from the couch, grabbed my keys, and left the apartment with a "slam" of the door. There was no one in the hallway - frantically I rushed to the elevator and pressed the button to go down (an irony in itself, considering how Carter and I had acted when we were in the elevator not 15 minutes ago).  
  
Moments later the elevator doors opened and I tore into the lobby, searching for Carter's long black coat anywhere in the building. But he was nowhere in sight. Damn, that man moved fast. I remembered how his hands had flown over my body, and I smiled slightly at the irony of this second statement. 'I'd better get some tonight,' I thought, 'or I'm going to be thinking this dirty all night.'  
  
I left the building, oblivious to the fact that my blouse was half- unbuttoned and my bra was rather obviously showing. Quickly I scanned the street - "Carter!" I hollered, watching as he rounded the corner, then stopped at the sound of his name.  
  
Relieved, I ran down the street to catch up with him. But what to say? What could I possibly say to get Carter back up to my apartment? Carter scorned was less fun to deal with than Carter embarrassed - and if they were one in the same, you were pretty much screwed.  
  
Once I approached him there were no words on my lips - instead, I flew into his arms and kissed him deeply. He seemed reluctant to reciprocate at first, but after a few moments he returned the kiss with equal fervor. But suddenly he cut the kiss off. "What about the whole friendship thing?" he asked, concerned. "And about escaping our problems -"  
  
I put a finger to his lips and eyed him seductively. "Just shut up," I told Carter, and kissed him more passionately than I'd ever kissed a man before. 


	2. Part 2 - Wake Me Up, Slap My Face

Title: Close, But Not Touching (2/9)  
  
Disclaimer: You know the drill.  
  
Rating: Hmm, PG-13 for language and the like.  
  
Setting: Right after "Never Say Never." Yeah, I'm a slacker, I know . . . this thing's been in the works for about a year, the last 5 months being me completely rewriting the whole damn thing. Excuses, excuses – on with the story.  
  
Notes: This chapter is from Carter's point of view.  
  
---------------------------------------------  
  
In the morning I woke comfortably – the sunshine streaming through the window was pleasantly accompanied by the chirping birds outside. The sheets covering me were warm and inviting, but as I became increasingly conscious, the texture of the sheets seemed unfamiliar. I cracked one eye open and was surprised to find myself surrounded by a definitively feminine room - the curtains on the window were pale yellow, the walls were adorned with pink rosebud wallpaper, and even the sheets I was under were yellow and flowery.  
  
Quickly I snapped my eyes open, and for one frightening moment I didn't know where I was. Then the memories of the night before came flooding back and I let out a sigh of relief. Deb's. I was at Deb's, like I'd been so many times before.  
  
Except I didn't remember ever being quite so naked at Deb's before.  
  
I sat up almost immediately as I remembered the circumstances regarding my location. Talking with Deb. And joking with Deb. And yikes . . . kissing with Deb. And . . .  
  
Oh, God.  
  
I closed my eyes as the weight of the world crashed upon my shoulders. The conflict of remembering last night with both pleasure and immediate regret was too much for me to comprehend, and suddenly my focal point became Deb's lacy bra hanging from her ceiling fan. I had no idea how *that* happened, but to tell the truth, I didn't remember many details from the night before – it was all an intensely surreal, frantically romantic memory; a blurry, drunkenly passionate dream . . .  
  
I smiled in spite of myself. It seemed so dreamlike that if I hadn't been sitting exactly where I was sitting at that moment, I would have doubted it had even happened. Yet the dreamlike part was confusing to me. The soft afterglow of sex still loomed over me – a cloud of intrinsic pleasure and warmth was blissfully unaccompanied by a hangover. Yet there was also a sense of guilt, which I had known would be inevitable even before we'd gotten to her apartment. It was a nagging feeling of dread, a feeling that could only be explained as slight disgust; though nothing about last night really disgusted me.  
  
The thought of seeing her now, however . . . now that she'd be in this new light . . .  
  
Absently my gaze drifted to the other side of the bed, and I was relieved to see it empty. My solitude didn't help my jumbled thoughts, however, and I scanned the room for my clothes – yet in the back of my mind I knew they weren't anywhere nearby. A mental image of Deb's living room floor occurred to me and I winced, knowing I'd have to walk through the apartment completely naked to collect my clothing. Luckily, Deb was most likely at work, so there was no worry of her seeing me . . .  
  
I winced again, realizing that the only reason for Deb to be at County would be to sort out any loose ends in her quitting. The last thing she would probably need after a day like that would be to find me still here. In fact, the more that I thought about it, the more relieved I became that Deb wasn't around – if she felt half as confused as I did at that moment, this morning would be a lot more awkward than any normal "morning after." It was incredibly conflicting. I'd woken up next to women I knew next to nothing about many times before; I'd woken up to women I was convinced I was in love with even more often. But Deb was my rock, my best friend, the only true constant in my life. I knew everything about her, yet I wasn't in love with her. Ordinarily I'd long for an encore – now, I found myself perversely relieved that I wouldn't see her at work today.  
  
I pulled the bed sheet around me – truly one cliché wrapped in another – and stumbled out of the room. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and scowled, becoming increasingly relieved that Deb wasn't around to see how I really looked in the morning.  
  
I spotted my boxers down the hall, and quickly slipped them on. The details of last night were becoming increasingly clear, and I turned towards the sofa to retrieve my slacks and shirt. I groaned when I noticed that the shirt was missing every single button – even the buttons on the cuff. I made a mental note that Deb was a ripper – next time, I'd wear a less expensive shirt . . .  
  
I froze at this thought. Next time? Would there even be a next time? Why would there possibly be a next time? Last night was an impulse, an impromptu non-decision; we were both hormonally charged . . . the sexual tension could have been there for years . . . best friends slept together all the time. It was like a rite of passage, or something . . .  
  
Yet a next time really didn't sound half bad. Hell, as long as my relationship with Deb was ruined and awkward, why not? Maybe I was just deprived of sex for too long, maybe I'd missed emotional intimacy just as much as physical intimacy . . .  
  
I shook my head discontentedly and resumed picking up my clothes. I decided to stop overanalyzing it all – some things were better left impulsive. But if Deb brought the topic up the next time I saw her, well, I'd be willing to listen. She'd probably leave me a message on my machine once I got in, or she'd make some effort to see me before I started up my shift at County. Hell, if she was there now, I'd probably run into her once I got there. We could have lunch maybe, friendly chit-chat, just like the best friends I knew we were . . . but maybe I just needed to be convinced.  
  
I didn't see her again for eight weeks.  
  
---------------------------------------------  
  
When I did see her, she was sitting at the counter at a coffee shop we used to frequent. "Long time, no see," I commented, sliding onto the stool next to her.  
  
She turned around sharply at the sound of my voice. "Oh . . . yeah, I know," she responded, and I was surprised to find that I couldn't read her expression. She looked tired, which was how I'd grown accustomed to seeing her, but there was an uneasiness in her eyes that was questionable to me. "I'm sorry, I've been busy . . . various interviews around town, doors slammed in my famously malpracticing face . . . you know the story." She looked at me once more, then added "Maybe not."  
  
I smiled reassuringly. "It'll get better once the dust clears," I told her. "You're a great doctor; that reputation's going to come through eventually."  
  
She shot me a glare that almost made me fall backwards off the stool. "It's that reputation that I'm having so much trouble with," she replied as the man behind the counter plopped a bill in front of her. Deb reached for her purse and pulled out her wallet. "Hopefully things should be looking up soon."  
  
"You have to go already?" I asked, disappointed.  
  
Deb nodded and placed a 5 dollar bill on the counter. "I've got to get over to Mercy before the cabs get taken up and traffic gets ungodly." She flashed me a half-hearted smile. "It was nice to see you again, Carter."  
  
"Now, wait, hold on," I interrupted, grabbing her wrist. "Why don't I drive you to Mercy? I don't have to be anywhere for a while."  
  
She laughed darkly and shook her head with something that looked like amusement. "No, no-o, that's all right," she chuckled, eyeing the door. "That's not going to happen."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Deb, allow someone to help you once in a while. It's fine. I want to do it."  
  
She bit her lip, obviously conflicted and unable to think of inevitably bogus excuses. "It's fine, I can get there myself . . ."  
  
I shook my head and stood up with her. "No, sorry, I've already made up my mind. I'm taking you there."  
  
Deb sighed, but I could see a smile playing on the end of her lips. "Well, if you've made up your mind, then I guess all I can do as a woman is to comply with your orders, sir," she replied wryly.  
  
I nodded with a tight grin – Deb was in a bad mood, all right, and this might not be the most pleasant drive of my life, but I was making headway. Eight weeks was too long to go without seeing her. "I'm parked across the street," I informed her as we left the café. "What time is your interview?"  
  
"Um, three," she answered quickly. "John, seriously, you don't have to do this –"  
  
I waved a hand dismissively. "It's nothing, really," I insisted. "Come on, we haven't seen each other for ages. A car ride won't hurt you."  
  
Deb didn't respond as I unlocked her door and then crossed over to mine. As long as I kept my spirits up, things wouldn't be awkward. I'd decided that long ago, back when I'd assumed Deb was avoiding my phone calls and not answering the door when I came by. Deb always retreated when she didn't want to face something – I refused to be that particular something.  
  
She was silent as I closed my door and buckled my seat belt. I shook my head slightly as I started the ignition and pulled the car into traffic. "I'd ask you how things have been, but I think I've got a pretty good idea," I commented.  
  
Den sighed gravely and for a moment of sheer terror, I thought she was going to cry. But instead she replied "Things have been all right. The entire world seems to be turned against me, but I'd worry if it wasn't. Consistency is important."  
  
I chuckled. "I've missed the apocalyptic Deb Chen," I told her fondly.  
  
"Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get me," Deb reminded me.  
  
I shrugged complacently. "Good point."  
  
We were silent for a moment, and I started to regret my feeble attempt at repairing our friendship. I was about to break the silence when she said "Look, John, about that night . . ."  
  
I nodded vigorously, relieved that she'd broached that topic instead of me. "That's just what I wanted to talk to you about," I told her, and it wasn't altogether untrue. "It was –"  
  
"A mistake," she finished quickly, and I turned to her in surprise. "It was a mistake. I've been feeling guilty all this time about it, how I'd had a bad day and I dragged you into it."  
  
"No, I didn't mind," I interrupted hastily.  
  
But she didn't pay attention. "It was inexcusable of me, really, to use our friendship so frivolously. I knew it would hurt our relationship, and I went for it anyway. I just wanted to say I'm sorry . . ."  
  
I shook my head; staring ahead at the road, I said "You really don't have to worry about it, Deb. Honestly. I'm only sorry I haven't gotten to see you for so long." I stopped at a light and flashed her a reassuring smile. "I've missed you."  
  
She smiled back, and I had a feeling it was the first time in a long time. "I've missed you, too. It's no fun lamenting to myself."  
  
I chuckled and started to drive again as the light turned green. "Well, maybe if you'd picked up the phone or answered the door once in a while, you could have vented to me for as long as you wanted," I told her with a bitterness that was only mostly teasing.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," she responded, smiling. "I needed some time."  
  
"I could see that," I observed. "So what else have you been doing, besides looking for openings?"  
  
Deb sighed. "This and that," she told me. "It's boring as hell when your life is normal."  
  
"A normal life," I remarked. "What must that be like?"  
  
"It's not as relaxing as you'd think," she told me. "I'm dying for that infrequent sleep schedule again."  
  
"Ah, you mean the 24 hours on your feet, followed by an hour and a half of half-sleep, and eventually stumbling back home at random hours in the night to get ready for another shift?" I questioned, sliding the wheel in my hands as I made the appropriate turn. "You know firsthand that it's not nearly as glamorous as we once thought."  
  
"Maybe," she answered, "but it's better than just floating through life. I need to *do* something besides going to countless interviews. I've even stopped getting my hopes up about them."  
  
"Something's going to come along any time now," I told her sympathetically. "I mean, what's this interview right now for? An attending position?" Before she could speak I added "I know everyone always had bad things to say about working at Mercy, but it's got to be some kind of paradise after County, right?"  
  
"Some kind," Deb murmured.  
  
I nodded. "It's chaos since you left. No one wants to do anything, no one wants to work, we all just sit around and cry miserably."  
  
Deb rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "John . . ."  
  
"No, seriously," I defended. "We all sit around in a group circle and weep all day. 'We cry 'We miss Dr. Chen!' and we exchange sad memories of you in your prime." I glanced over at her, and she was clearly trying not to laugh. "Tomorrow we're burning Weaver in effigy. I'll send you pictures."  
  
"John . . ." she began again, but she shook her head and chuckled. "I've got a Weaver voodoo doll you can use. It's slightly used, though."  
  
"Not a problem," I assured her, stopping at a light. "We'll just have to make sure Malucci doesn't get his hands on it."  
  
"I actually saw Malucci the other day," Deb remarked. "He got a spot up in Wisconsin or something, somewhere out of state." She shook her head. "I don't check one X-ray and I've got a scarlet letter emblazoned on my chest. Malucci screws some paramedic in an ambulance and he's got a job already. It's not fair at all."  
  
"Well, would you consider working out of state?" I asked her. "Malucci probably snagged his job before they got wind of his reputation."  
  
"I don't know yet." She didn't seem sad as much as worried, and I took that as a good sign. "I'd really rather stay in Chicago, but if worst comes to worst . . ." She sighed. "I don't know."  
  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
A few minutes later we pulled in front of Mercy's entrance. "Do you want me to find a spot?" I asked her as she opened the passenger door. "We can go out afterwards to celebrate or commiserate, depending on how it goes."  
  
Deb shook her head. "I'm fine. I'd rather do this by myself." She smiled at me; taking my hand, she squeezed it appreciatively. "Thank you, John. For everything."  
  
"My pleasure," I told her, flashing her a warm smile. "Call me afterwards, all right?"  
  
Deb nodded and unbuckled her seat belt. "Absolutely." She gave me one more smile, one that even looked hopeful, before climbing out of the seat and shutting the door behind her. Yet her eyes deceived her – she was scared as hell.  
  
I watched her stroll to the entrance and go in; starting to drive off, I impulsively turned the car around and drove into the parking structure.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"Excuse me, can you tell me where they're interviewing for positions in the ER?" I asked the receptionist quickly.  
  
Even though she was middle-aged and definitively unRandi, she still shared Randi's unimpressed glare. "We're not hiring right now," she informed me. "Come back in a month or so, there might be a position available by then."  
  
I shook my head. "No, I'm not applying – I'm looking for Dr. Chen. Dr. Jing- Mei Chen . . ."  
  
The woman shrugged. "Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name."  
  
Confused, I started to speak again – but I spotted Deb waiting by an elevator. "Never mind," I told the woman hastily, and rushed to catch up to Deb. She stepped into the elevator, oblivious to my approach, and the doors shut long before I got there. Irritated, I considered going back to my car and going home, but the thought of Deb becoming elusive for another two months was nagging at me. I glanced up to the lighted numbers above the elevator – they stopped on 5. I made a mental note as I pressed the button for the elevator to come down. Level 5, level 5 . . .  
  
A few moments later I was exiting the elevator and looking up and down the halls, which were empty. I glanced at a directory before realizing it didn't make a difference – yet after noticing the 5 large letters at the top of the board.  
  
But why would Deb interviewing in OB-GYN?  
  
A door closed down the hall, and immediately I followed it. I opened the door and surveyed the room – it was a waiting room, with one or two pregnant woman sitting in the chairs. I spotted Deb at the registration desk; relieved, I closed the door behind me and approached her. "Your interview is in OB?" I asked from behind her.  
  
Deb whirled around. "John, what are you doing here?" she hissed.  
  
"I decided to give you moral support whether you wanted it or not," I told her uncertainly, suddenly doubting how brilliant this idea was after all. "Why are you up in OB?"  
  
Deb sighed and turned back to the desk. "It's nothing, John," she mused, picking up a pen and signing herself in. "Really, I'll call you when I get home, all right?" She turned back around and seemed annoyed that I wasn't retreating. "It's just a check-up. Nothing to worry about." Quietly she replaced the pen and took a seat at the end of the waiting room.  
  
Refusing to take a cold shoulder as an answer, I followed Deb to her seat. "You told me you had an interview," I stated, taking a seat next to her.  
  
"No, you assumed I had an interview," she informed me.  
  
"You didn't bother to correct me."  
  
Deb looked uneasy. "I know, but I didn't want –  
  
"Jing-Mei Chen!" the receptionist called out, bored. Deb looked at me once more, then walked back up to the desk. Sighing, I followed her to the desk.  
  
"I need these filled out, you need to sign here, and I need your insurance information," the woman recited. "First time at this hospital?"  
  
"Um, yes," Deb told her softly. I could tell she was aware of my presence, and that she was trying to ignore me. She took the clipboard, jotted a few things down, and quickly handed it back to her.  
  
Surprisingly, it was only then that the obvious answer came to me. "Are you *pregnant*?!" I asked much too loudly.  
  
Deb glanced up at me, silenced me with a glare, then returned to her seat.  
  
I stood there for a moment, staring at her in awe with wide eyes. I blinked once, then quickly followed her to her seat. "Are you serious?" I whispered, shifting back into the chair next to hers.  
  
"You know, this shadowing thing is started to get really annoying," she informed me irritably.  
  
"Then talk to me!" I urged. "Are you seriously pregnant?"  
  
"No, I'm jokingly pregnant." Deb rolled her eyes.  
  
"Deb – "  
  
"John, I don't know anything yet," she retorted, now clearly annoyed. She picked up a magazine and started to flip through it. "Don't freak out before we know for sure."  
  
I froze. "We?"  
  
"Yes, 'we,'" she informed me, turning the page in the magazine. "Me and my gynecologist. But now that you mention it, you did have a pretty prominent part in this. Have you forgotten already? We just had this conversation a few minutes ago."  
  
"No, we didn't have *this* conversation," I corrected her with a sharp laugh. "When were you planning to tell me, exactly?"  
  
She sighed in exasperation and put her magazine down. "I was going to think about *that* once I found out one way or the other. I didn't want you to freak out over nothing."  
  
I stared at her. "So you were thinking about not telling me at all?!" I exclaimed. "Is that why you didn't want me to drive you here?"  
  
Deb groaned and looked up at me from the magazine. "*This* is what I wanted to avoid," she informed me.  
  
"I'm not freaking out. This isn't freaking out." I noticed I was speaking faster than usual, so I made an effort to relax my speech. "I'm not."  
  
Deb looked at me with amusement. "Whatever you say, John."  
  
"Jing-Mei Chen?"  
  
We both looked up at the mention of her name. "Here goes nothing," she said with a nervous smile.  
  
"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked.  
  
"No," she responded, standing up and grabbing her purse. "No, that's all right. Just go home, John. I'll call you once I'm done."  
  
"Right, like I'd go home now," I told her with a wry grin. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in the chair. "I'll wait for you right here."  
  
"Fine," Deb sighed. "I won't be long."  
  
I nodded and gave her what felt like a supportive smile, but it was probably more shaky that I would have liked. She followed the doctor through the door, and I found myself alone – with only my screaming thoughts to keep me company. A hundred questions came to mind, but when they all ran together all I could think of was a frantic buzzing. Immediately I decided to put all thoughts aside until Deb came out of that room. There was no point in thinking about it if it wasn't even a real problem yet – once I knew for sure, I'd think about options, and decisions, and all the painful thought processes I hated even contemplated for fear of their complexity. Satisfied with my lack of decision, I picked up a nearby magazine – then nearly threw it across the room as I noticed the widely grinning baby on the cover. A bold headline on the cover proclaimed "10 Steps to Being a Great Father," and I felt my stomach churn in anticipation.  
  
How long did a pregnancy test take, anyway? I'd done countless ultrasounds and blood tests in my life, and I never remembered them taking so long. What was she doing, giving birth?  
  
That particular thought made me feel faint. Anxiously I glanced at my watch and was perturbed to discover that 30 seconds had passed since Deb had left the waiting room. Ugh. The pressure of fatherhood was already taking its toll – and at this thought, I again felt an unmanly lightheadedness.  
  
I took a deep breath and clasped my hands together. There was nothing to worry about, really. Deb probably wasn't pregnant, she was probably a day late or something, there was nothing to really worry about there. She was jumping to conclusions, that was all. And now, so was I, thinking about fatherhood and babies and pregnancy . . . it was probably just a false alarm. That was it. There was no way Deb could be pregnant.  
  
A nagging voice in my head cried "But what if she is?"  
  
Before I could go over the procesdures of denial again, the door to the waiting room opened and a woman walked though with a toddler. The little boy clutched onto her hand and babbled pleasantly; the woman stroked his head and answered "In a minute, baby. Mommy's got to see the doctor, then we can get you some ice cream."  
  
The little boy babbled some more and outstretched his hands – the woman lifted him up and expertly planted him on her hip. "Now shush for a second while I talk to the lady, all right?" she asked, kissing him on the forehand. The boy clapped his hands and sang a joyous song; the woman smiled slightly at the receptionist. "He's a little hyper today," she explained sheepishly, bending slightly to sign herself in.  
  
The little boy chattered happily to himself, then caught my eye and exclaimed "Bye-ah!" as he waved with both hands.  
  
I smiled and waved back. Then again, it might not be so bad, after all . . .  
  
  
  
: 


	3. Part 3 - For a Moment in Time

Title: Close, But Not Touching (3/9)  
  
Disclaimer: I'll give them back once I remove the strings from their hands. Dance, puppets, dance!  
  
Timeline: Confusing, I know - since they technically slept together after "Never Say Never," this pretty much happens in the following months.  
  
Rating: If you made it this far without being offended, by all means, continue.  
  
---------------------------------------------  
  
**Deb**  
  
Positive. The blonde, perky woman studied the screen carefully while I studied the ceiling tiles above my head. Positive. Positive. Positive. That was the only word ricocheting though my mind as my eyes skimmed over each ceiling tile. Positive. She was positive it was positive, Dr. Harmon here, and she also got a big laugh out of puns. I couldn't bring myself to look at the ultrasound screen, just in case the test was wrong . . . a woman's hopes could only be crushed so many times before they quit springing back.  
  
"Ooh, I see the little guy," the woman suddenly told me, then added "Or girl." I nearly got whiplash as I turned to look at the screen. She pointed to a vague, blurry figure and smiled at me. "Looks like you're about 8 - 12 weeks along. Good size, too."  
  
I nodded, my eyes transfixed on the tiny image on the screen. That nagging suspicion all these weeks had turned out to be more of a nagging intuition. I should have told John, I knew I should have, but something in my mind convinced me that he'd flip out over the news. Besides, the humiliation from that night so long ago still burned in my cheeks to this day. There had been a period of time when I'd been content never to see John Carter ever again, clothed or not. It was simply too embarrassing.  
  
I'd become a recluse and started screening my calls. At one point I didn't leave the house for three days straight, from nothing but pure mortification and fear of seeing Carter somewhere. I'd wondered if he'd look at me the same way as before, or if he'd constantly be picturing me naked. I'd already lost my job; I didn't need to lose my best friend, as well.  
  
It had taken me nearly a month to realize that pushing him away was the same as losing him, if not worse. But by then, he'd stopped calling and coming by. It had taken a lot of conscious effort to pull myself out the inevitable depression. I even made some phone calls, went to some job interviews, stepped out and felt the sunshine on my face.  
  
And then the queasy familiarity of it all had set in. I'd felt like this before, the unsolicited depression (well, it was *partially* solicited, but still . . .), the nausea, the general disinterest with life. It scared me to death when the possibility of pregnancy had entered my mind.  
  
The only thought had come to mind those few weeks ago was "Not again, please, not again . . ."  
  
Yet I'd had had something of an epiphany a few nights ago, right after I'd made the appointment (and after immediately deciding to branch out to other hospitals for it). My first thought had been how ironically lucky it was that I didn't have a job so I could actually make the appointment for the middle of the day. That insight had opened an entire can of worms for me. Suddenly I had realized that being jobless could have been a blessing in disguise . . . perhaps someone was telling me that this time, it was all right to have a baby. Someone made the choice for me just when I was tired of choosing; someone had picked me up and plunked me down on a very different path, setting me forwards instead of in the circles I'd tread for so long.  
  
In reality, that person had been Kerry, and I scowled to think about that. I preferred the romanticism of fate to the coincidence of unemployment.  
  
My head had spinning for the last few days - but not like it had in the aftermath of sleeping with Carter. The idea of having the baby and keeping the baby sounded more and more appealing every time I thought about it. Maybe it was just my biological clock ticking away, maybe it was just the concept of companionship - hell, maybe it was just my excitement in being able to think about a decision I'd done right, instead of remembering the tangled mess my life had become ever since Michael. There had only been one major problem with even contemplating the decision.  
  
Carter.  
  
My innate feminism always nagged at me when I worried what Carter would think. I was too afraid to face him after we'd slept together; how was I going to stroll up to him and announce I was carrying his child? Part of me was tempted - very, very tempted - not to tell him a thing.  
  
And then he'd showed up in the café, and my beautiful plan had gone to hell. I'd assumed I wouldn't see him again for a long time - long enough to make up a juicy lie about a one-night stand with a stranger. But damn him; damn him and those eyes . . . and his stupid persistent do-goodness. Ugh. Carter's frickin chivalry had stalked me and pulled the truth from right out under my feet. And I couldn't lie to him. Damn those eyes.  
  
My excitement at actually finding out the test results had been drastically dampened by the snapshot my mind had made of John's expression. Pale yet flushed; incredulous and horrified; pleased but disapproving. And even now, as I watched the tiny figure on the screen, I couldn't even smile. I could raise this baby on my own - I'd have to ask my parents for help, but if push came to shove, I could be a single mother. That didn't matter in the long run, though. I would have wanted his approval even if the baby wasn't his. If it had been anyone else but Carter, I wouldn't give a shit . . .  
  
Lord. First my family, now Carter. For such an independent person I tended to live or die from a lot of opinions.  
  
"So, is this your first baby?" the irritating med student asked me, and I snapped back to reality. She'd probably been chattering this whole time and I'd been blissfully oblivious. Thank God for deep thinking.  
  
But her ignorance posed an annoying question. "No," I murmured, not pulling my eyes away from the screen. I should be happy, I should be thrilled . . .  
  
"Ooh, so someone's going to be a big brother or sister, huh?" she asked happily.  
  
I looked at her plainly. "No."  
  
This threw her off, and I morbidly enjoyed watching her struggle to keep the perky smile on her face. "Well, let's get you cleaned up," she responded cheerily, switching off the ultrasound. "Have you told your husband yet?"  
  
I rolled my eyes. This girl was one big land mine.  
  
------------------------------------------------  
  
I spotted Carter through the window of the waiting room door and I knew he spotted me. By the time my hand reached the handle, he was out of his seat and halfway across the room.  
  
"So? . . ." he asked anxiously as I stepped through the door. I wished I'd had some smart-ass reply for him, but I chickened out and stepped past him.  
  
"No, Deb, you can't do this," he argued, following me out the door and down the hall. "Please, just tell me, yes or no . . ."  
  
Every fear and sense of dread about this pregnancy translated into fury as I pressed the elevator arrow and glared at Carter. "I'm not asking you for anything here, Carter," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. "I've already made my decision and I don't care what you say, or what you think about it, or what rights you think you have. I'm the one who's going to have the morning sickness, I'm the one who's going through all of the emotional shit, I'm the one who's going to buy the clothes and lunch boxes and graduation caps and gowns, I'm going to be the mother and I don't need any help from you or from anyone else. I know this is selfish, I know this is impractical, but it's my body, my baby and my decision!" I gritted my teeth as the elevator opened behind me. "So go back to your life and your job and I'll send you a postcard every once in a while."  
  
Carter grabbed the elevator door before it could shut in front of me. "So, you *are* pregnant, then?"  
  
I stared at him. "Yes, John, I'm pregnant," I sighed.  
  
His expression slowly elapsed into a grin. "Really?"  
  
I leaned against the back of the elevator tiredly. "I know what you're thinking," I muttered. "But I can do it. I've got it figured out. I've even -"  
  
"I don't get a say in this?"  
  
I held my breath sharply as the elevator beeped in disapproval. Carter stepped inside, and closing my eyes, I murmured "I guess you do, yeah . . ."  
  
I felt Carter's arm on my shoulder - alarmed, I looked up at him. He was grinning like a goon. "I think it's great."  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
I stared at the table, memorizing the shadow my tray cast on the white plastic, feeling John's stare burn into me. I'd been silent for what felt like minutes - glancing up at him, I simply answered "I don't know."  
  
He sighed and took my hand across the table. "I would have been all right if you'd told me beforehand. I just want to know why you didn't think I'd be all right with it."  
  
Self-consciously I glanced around the hospital cafeteria. It seemed so similar to County's, but Carter was the only one I recognized in the room. There was a comfort in this supposed incognito. "I just . . . I didn't know how you'd react."  
  
"Liar." His tone was teasing but his eyes were serious. "Did you not want me to be involved, or something?"  
  
I sighed and looked longingly towards the exit. How he talked me into having lunch, I'll never know . . . "I didn't think you *wanted* to be involved," I mused, staring at my hands. "I mean, aren't you embarrassed about that night?"  
  
"I wouldn't say embarrassed," Carter considered.  
  
"Mortified beyond belief?"  
  
Carter laughed. "Come on, it wasn't that bad. I was there too, remember?"  
  
I stuck my tongue out at him. "Not that bad?"  
  
Carter grinned meekly. "I'm really confused on what you want me to say here," he admitted. "Horrible? Fantastic? Traumatizing? Mind-blowingly-"  
  
"John!" I hissed, glancing around us. "Shut up!"  
  
He laughed, and I did too. "Is that why you didn't tell me?" he asked. "You were embarrassed that I'm the father?"  
  
"I'm not embarrassed that you're the father," I rationalized, glad that the ice was broken. "I'm embarrassed that I allowed it to happen."  
  
"Are you sorry it happened?"  
  
I was quiet. "Are you?"  
  
Carter smiled. "I think that the means to the end are inconsequential," he told me, squeezing my hand comfortably. I looked up at him in amazement. "I think this will be good."  
  
---------------------------------  
  
"John, get me a bag of spinach, will you?" I called out from across the produce section. Leaning over the cart that was nearly overflowing with groceries, I pulled an orange from the stack and scowled at it. "Who do I have to sleep with to get some decent produce around here?" I muttered, replacing it.  
  
"Not me," he answered from behind me.  
  
I jumped in surprise. "Ew, who would sleep with you?" I responded teasingly.  
  
"I'm leaving that one alone," he informed her, and I elbowed him in the ribs. "Where's spinach?"  
  
"Over there," I told him, pointing. "And carrots, too, I need carrots."  
  
Carter nodded and obediently took a plastic bag to the vegetable section. I watched him go, my attention drifting from the oranges. This wasn't weird, was it? Going shopping for pregnancy food with my best friend/baby's father? I shook my head and decided not to think so much. Deep thinking always resulted in skepticism, and frankly, I was tired of being skeptical.  
  
It had been almost a week since I'd found out I was pregnant, and Carter had practically attached himself to my hip since then. He called me every night to make sure I was all right, he bought me all the "What To Expect When You're Expecting" books, and today he had come over with a guide for eating right during pregnancy. It was almost smothering.  
  
Not that I was complaining - not at all. My last pregnancy had been lonely and depressing. I'd had to go through all of this by myself, and I had dreaded my delivery date for fear of being alone during that, too.  
  
But Carter had been there for that, too.  
  
I smiled to myself contentedly. This was so much better than I could have thought. Carter was my favorite person in the world; if you excluded the weirdness and the memories and the numerous, numerous questions we still had to iron out, this would work out very well, indeed.  
  
I tied up the bag of oranges as Carter came back with the bag of spinach. "You're not making this on any of the days I'm going to be over, are you?" he asked, dropping the bag in the cart with disgust.  
  
"I just might," I retorted. "Except since you're going to be cooking whenever you're over, I would think that it's your call."  
  
Carter nodded, and was quiet. "How often *am* I going to be over?"  
  
I hesitated for a moment. Here was one of those numerous, numerous questions we still had to figure out. "As often as you like," I suggested amicably.  
  
Carter nodded, but I could tell he was distracted. "What are you going to do about your apartment?"  
  
"What's wrong with my apartment?"  
  
"Well . . . you're going to need more than one bedroom pretty soon," he told me, scratching the back of his head. "You know, a nursery and all that . . ."  
  
I groaned. "God, I didn't even think about that," I lamented. "I can't afford to move right now . . ."  
  
"Well, what if you got a roommate?"  
  
I looked at Carter and smiled. "I don't think I've got any choice about *that,* do I?" I asked, putting my hand on my stomach.  
  
Carter seemed to hesitate for a minute. "Well, what I mean is . . . wouldn't it be easier if you had help with the baby, right there in the apartment?"  
  
"John, I'm on zero income right now," I sighed. "I can't possibly afford a nanny or anything."  
  
"You know, some of the rest of us would be able to help you out, too . . ."  
  
I looked at him and pushed the cart down the aisle. "You don't need to be paying for a nanny, either," I lectured, picking up a cucumber and tossing it into the cart.  
  
Carter rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Do you really not know what I'm getting at here?"  
  
I shook my head, still confused. "A live in nanny?"  
  
He smiled patiently and stopped the cart. "Wouldn't it be easier if the baby's father lived close by?"  
  
"Well, of course," I rationalized, "but you live all the way across town, with your grandmother." And suddenly, like a boulder dropping onto my head, I understood what he was talking about. "Ohh."  
  
"Because I've been thinking about moving out for some time now . . ."  
  
I let out a held breath. "I don't know, John . . ."  
  
"Been looking for a place for a few weeks, haven't really settled on anything . . ."  
  
"John . . ."  
  
"I don't know, it seems like the best idea - we can both be there for it all . . ." He rubbed the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous. "How about it?"  
  
I looked at him doubtfully. "Can we afford a three bedroom?" I asked. "I mean, I'm not planning on applying for any more positions until after the baby's born, we talked about that . . ."  
  
Carter grinned. "Do we *need* a three bedroom?" he asked with a wink.  
  
I stared at him, speechless. "Uh . . ."  
  
"Joke, Deb," he told me quickly. "It was a joke."  
  
Relieved, I nodded and continued to push the cart down the aisle. "Of course, I knew that. Very funny."  
  
We were quiet for a few minutes longer as I loaded a bag of potatoes into the basket. "So, how about it?" he asked finally.  
  
I sighed and turned around to face him. "It could work," I considered. "I mean, it would definitely help me out, and you'd get to see the baby all the time . . ." I started to head down the aisle again, but turned around quickly and added "But we'd go 50-50 on the rent and everything."  
  
"Of course," he agreed quickly.  
  
"I mean, I've got savings, I can handle my fair share," I informed him as we continued through the store. "With the baby expenses and everything . . . I've already got everything all budgeted out."  
  
"I understand completely," he said from behind me. "Hey, did you want any of those purple-looking fruit things?"  
  
"Because that would be very like you, to chip in with more than your share of the rent or to come home with all the nursery furnishings," I added rapidly. "Or something sneaky like that, like paying the utilities without me knowing about it."  
  
"And you say you know me," Carter teased. "I would never do anything like that. Now, purple things?"  
  
"Yeah, fine," I said distractedly. "Now, I know you're going to be working a lot of the time, but we should try to divide the housework and things evenly -"  
  
"Deb, calm down," Carter laughed, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Don't you think we should look for a place before we assign chores?"  
  
I smiled and hugged him comfortably. "I'm sorry. My mind's going a mile a minute. Another can opened, another pile of worms all over the place."  
  
"It's going to work out," he assured me.  
  
I nodded and smiled up at him. "At the very least, we'll be too tired of each other to jump into bed again," I commented, grateful that we could tease about this after so long.  
  
"Yeah, speak for yourself," Carter grinned, running his hands along my back jokingly. I smacked his hands lightly and scowled at him; he puckered up.  
  
I shook my head with a smile and rummaged through the cart. "It looks like we're done for today," I remarked - then groaned. "But if we're going to live together, you're going to have to learn your way around the grocery store. *This* is basil - not spinach."  
  
Carter shrugged. "It's an unpleasant leafy vegetable," he stated. "Same difference."  
  
"One is a vegetable, the other is an herb," I corrected him. "There's a *big* difference."  
  
Carter grinned. "Not when I cook, there's not."  
  
I stared at him. "You're not coming near my child," I informed him, pushing the cart down the aisle.  
  
He laughed and put his hands on my shoulders. "*My* child will learn to enjoy the finer foods in life - namely Taco Bell, McDonalds, and various packaged delicacies from the vending machines."  
  
"Your child had better not come anywhere near my child," I chuckled as we approached the check out counter. "My child won't be influenced by your unhealthy eating habits."  
  
"Yeah, just watch," he responded as he slipped a package of Oreos onto the counter.  
  
I rolled my eyes and handed him the package of basil. "Put this back, and ask the nice man to point you towards the spinach."  
  
"I'll try my best, but I promise nothing," Carter called as he headed to the produce department.  
  
I shook my head amusedly and watched him go. No matter how tentative I was about any of this, John had a way of easing my tension, making me feel better. He probably had no idea how much of an effect he was having on the situation. It had only been a week and already I was slowly slipping into the excitement I'd avoided for so long. I smiled to myself and began to load the groceries onto the belt. I was starting to think that maybe John was right, maybe this *would* work out. Granted, it wasn't perfect, but happiness was starting to feel refreshing - this was starting to feel comfortable. This would be good.  
  
I only had seven months to keep saying that to myself. Well, *technically* seven months and the rest of my life, but I was taking one step at a time here . . .  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"Dr. Chen!"  
  
I turned around and scanned the ER for whoever was calling my name. Haleh was rushing towards me, I smiled and gave her a hug. "Hi, Haleh!"  
  
"Where have you been, and why did it take you this long to come and visit us?" she asked, pulling out of the embrace.  
  
I chuckled and clutched my coat closer around me. I was grateful to have it - not only was it freezing cold outside, but I was about three months along by now and was starting to show a tiny bit. But hell, who knew, maybe Carter had been telling people at work already . . . "I've been pretty busy," I told her, and it definitely wasn't a lie.  
  
"Where are you working now?" Haleh asked, walking back to the admit desk. I followed her over and leaned over from the waiting room side. "Over at Northwestern or something?"  
  
Hmm. Well, that answered my question about Carter telling anyone. "Nope, actually, I'm still looking," I told her pleasantly. "Have you seen Carter around by any chance?"  
  
"He's in the lounge," Chuny called out from the desk.  
  
"Thanks," I responded, and flashed Haleh another smile. "It was nice seeing you again."  
  
"You too! And if you see Weaver -"  
  
I held up a hand and smiled. "Don't jinx me."  
  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
Absently I wandered down the hall, gazing at each and every poster. Had they replaced these in the last few months? I'd been down this hall countless times before, and yet I'd never noticed the fluorescent STD warning poster, or the promotion for flu shots with the little baby on it, or the poster with the elderly couple explaining the benefits of social security. I strolled through the hall leisurely as a pair of unrecognizable doctors in scrubs tore past me, and I quickly turned my head as Dr. Kovac rapidly followed them. "Hey, Dr. Kovac," I called after him. He looked up and turned around; looking slightly bewildered, he waved back.  
  
I made my way to the lounge and peered through the window on the door. Carter was rummaging through his locker, and a blonde woman I couldn't quite place was sitting at the table. They were talking, and from what I could hear, they were laughing. I leaned against the door and watched the scene unfold - all I needed was a quick internal reminder that I didn't want to interrupt them, and my conscience allowed me to spy to my heart's content.  
  
They kept chatting, and the blonde woman stood up and sauntered closer to him; Carter was grinning. Intrigued, I watched as they spoke with their lips only inches apart, and I found myself desperately wondering who this woman was. Carter hadn't mentioned seeing anyone, and I had the distinct feeling that I knew her from somewhere . . .  
  
My eyes widened as they kissed, and my head tilted as they kissed even deeper. Well, now.  
  
The situation was becoming increasingly difficult to intrude upon, and as the woman pressed Carter into the lockers, I found myself wanting to turn away. Yet it wasn't really from politeness or anything - I fiercely convinced myself that it wasn't jealousy, either.  
  
I decided to bide my time and stared at the newspaper I'd brought in with me. Three available apartments, three highlighted circles. Having every day to myself with nothing to do but eat properly, I'd enlisted in a massive apartment search and become somewhat of an expert on it. A quick peek into the lounge told me that Carter and the woman weren't nearly finished yet, and idly my gaze drifted back to the newspaper.  
  
But Carter had spotted me. Meekly I looked back and waved; he broke off the kiss rapidly. I decided to throw caution to the wind, and strolled into the lounge nonchalantly. "Have I interrupted anything?" I asked innocently, taking off my coat.  
  
"Not at all," Carter answered, and I could tell he was irritated. "Dr. Lewis, I'll see you later?"  
  
The woman nodded and leaned in for another kiss, but Carter backed away. "Ok, I guess," she said strangely - and on her way out, she took a good look at me. "Deb Chen?"  
  
I turned around. "Yeah?"  
  
"Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "They told me you didn't work here anymore!"  
  
"I don't," I responded stiffly, still unable to place her.  
  
"Deb, you remember Dr. Lewis, don't you?" Carter suddenly asked from the other side of the room.  
  
"Ohhhhh," I answered, nodded vigorously. "Of course, I'm sorry, prospagnosia and all. Can't recognize faces." Dr. Lewis looked concerned, and I quickly added "Kidding . . ."  
  
"Deb was actually just leaving," Carter told her, eyeing me irritably.  
  
"No, Deb was actually just coming to pick you up so we could see an apartment on your lunch break," I retorted.  
  
"You're renting an apartment together?" Dr. Lewis's tone was friendly, but skeptical.  
  
"We sure are," I told her with a thin smile. "It's like a bad sitcom, isn't it?"  
  
"All right, we'd better go then," Carter said quickly, pulling on his coat and shutting the locker. "I'll see you tonight, Susan?"  
  
"Let's grab lunch while we're out," I interrupted. "I've been throwing up all morning and I'm dying of hunger."  
  
"Oh, are you sick?" Dr. Lewis asked sympathetically.  
  
I looked at her with a half smile. "No."  
  
"I'll pick you up at 8," Carter interrupted, turning to Dr. Lewis. "All right?"  
  
"Sounds good," she responded. "It was nice to see you again, Deb!"  
  
"You too -" I looked at Carter and chuckled - "Susan."  
  
She smiled and left the lounge, and I looked at Carter amusedly. "So, Dr. Lewis is back?"  
  
"It would seem that way," he told me with a wry grin.  
  
"Well, from how much you've told about her and all." I told him sarcastically, "I probably should have figured it out."  
  
"Deb . . ."  
  
"I don't have a problem with it, really," I insisted. "I'm just interested as to why you didn't tell me you were seeing anyone."  
  
"You didn't tell me you were pregnant," Carter stated, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was afraid you'd freak out."  
  
I glared at him and punched his arm lightly. "You're too damn funny for your own good," I commented. Suddenly a chill shot up my spine. "Were you two together when we . . ."  
  
"No, actually, that was her first day back," he told me. "Well, not her first day back at *work,* just her first day back in Chicago . . . I'm surprised you didn't see her, she was there all day."  
  
"I was a little preoccupied, what with quitting and everything," I answered, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Touché." He gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"  
  
I handed him the newspaper. "You're driving, so you might need the directions," I told him. He held the door open for me, and graciously I stepped through it, only poking him in the ribs once or twice.  
  
--------------------------------------------  
  
"So, it would appear that you haven't told her yet," I commented from the passenger seat of his car.  
  
"Told her what?"  
  
I shook my head in mock disapproval. "It's only been three months and you've already forgotten your child," I sighed. "Some father."  
  
Carter winced noticeably as he pulled out of the parking garage. "I'm planning on telling her soon."  
  
"Oh, soon," I agreed sarcastically. "That's all right then."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Come on, it's not exactly the easiest thing to say," he complained. " `Hi, Susan, I know we've only been going out for a short time, but I have to cancel our date so I can coach Deb though the delivery of our child. Later!' "  
  
"That didn't sound too hard," I commented.  
  
"Look, I just didn't think you wanted everyone to gossip again," he explained. "Everyone kept bugging you about your pregnancy the last time . . . I figured you didn't want to go through that again."  
  
"John, I don't work there anymore," I explained slowly. "You do. Maybe you're worried about all the gossip that will spread about *you* - does that sound likely?'  
  
"Can we talk about something else, please?"  
  
"Promise me you'll tell Dr. Lewis."  
  
He grimaced. "Fine."  
  
I nodded in satisfaction. "And if your crazy animal sex wakes me up in the middle of the night at any time during this roommate stint," I warned devilishly, "then you are *so* out on your ass."  
  
He chuckled. "Jealousy will get you nowhere, Dr. Chen."  
  
A twinge of guilt coursed through my body, but I ignored it. "Just drive, Dr. Carter," I responded haughtily, leaning back in the seat and catching a glimpse of a smile on Carter's face. This would work out. This would be good . . . 


	4. Part 4 - Full of Hope

Title: Close, But Not Touching (4/9)  
  
Disclaimer: They're all mine. I keep them in a shoebox under my bed. TPTB are mistreating them *horribly* so I'm taking it into my own hands. But I suppose I'll end up returning them anyway.  
  
Summary: Carter and Deb prepare for the baby, and adjust to life together . . .  
  
---------------------------------------  
  
**Carter**  
  
Deb stepped into the apartment cautiously, and I followed. It was rather large, with a small kitchen to the right and a hallway to the left. I stepped into the kitchen and peered into the cabinets - I never really knew how to inspect apartments, anyway . . .  
  
"There's space for a refrigerator," the landlord commented from behind me. "It costs $25 a month to rent one. The kitchen comes with a built in microwave, gas stove, dishwasher -"  
  
Deb hurried into the kitchen excitedly. "John, you have to see these bedrooms!"  
  
I nodded and followed her down the hallway. "There's two very spacious linen closets," the landlord continued, following us quickly. "Here's two of the three bedrooms, and one of the bathrooms. The master bedroom is right across the hall, and the second bathroom is connected to it though here." He opened up a door, and there was indeed a bathroom behind it. "See?" he asked proudly.  
  
"Look how perfect this is!" Deb exclaimed from across the hall. "The two larger bedrooms are on either side of the smaller one - we could be the same distance from the baby!"  
  
"No pets except cats," the landlord informed us, coming out of the bathroom. "We pay utilities and trash, deposits are due with contract signing -"  
  
I nodded and looked into one of the bedrooms. It was illuminated with sunlight; the whole apartment seemed more spacious because of all the windows. "You all right with white carpet?" I called to Deb.  
  
"We can change the carpet!" she called back, and I could hear her turning the sinks on and off.  
  
"You can *not* change the carpet," the landlord said sternly.  
  
Deb emerged from the bathroom and put her hands on her hips. "White's fine," she admitted to me. "We'll just teach the baby how close cleanliness is to godliness."  
  
I opened the door to the linen cabinet and inspected it with what I hoped looked like expertise. "Lots of space," I commented.  
  
"Over here, you can see the view of the neighborhood," the landlord continued, and we followed him into the dining room.  
  
"So, what about Abby?" Deb suddenly asked.  
  
I frowned. "I don't think there's going to be room for Abby here."  
  
She shoved me playfully. "You know what I mean," she told me. "First you're completely hung up on Abby, and now you're seeing Susan Lewis?"  
  
"That's . . . complicated," I admitted.  
  
"Complicated?" Deb asked as the landlord rattled on. "John, you were obsessed with her - what could have happened?"  
  
Before I could answer, a sly smile slid across her face. "But as I remember, you were also obsessed with Dr. Lewis . . ."  
  
"Not true," I defended myself. "I was simply . . . attracted to her."  
  
"You told me that you spent almost $500 on a Christmas gift for her," Deb stated. "But you're right, that doesn't sound obsessive."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "You're so cute, you know that?" I grumbled sarcastically.  
  
She grinned - then her eyes widened. "That's what happened, isn't it?" she whispered. "You were all set to go after Abby, and then Lewis shows up, and -"  
  
The landlord cleared his throat loudly. "Excuse me," he interrupted. "But if you don't mind, I have four more apartments to show in the hour, so can you give me an idea as to whether or not I should look for those contracts in my office?"  
  
Deb looked at me. "I like it a lot," she told me. "What do you think?"  
  
I took one last look around and smiled down at her. "I think it's great," I agreed. "Do you want to keep looking, or . . ."  
  
She beamed and turned to the landlord. "We're going to have to give it some thought," she lied, pretending to be shrewd. "How soon is it available?"  
  
The landlord chuckled. "How soon can you move?"  
  
---------------------------------------  
  
"Hey, bring me that box!" Deb called out from the kitchen.  
  
I looked up at her from the sofa that I had just dragged in. I was incredibly sore and sweaty from lugging boxes and things around all day, and it took a significant effort for me to blink and say "You kidding me?"  
  
"Carter, don't be a prick," Deb sighed. "Please? I can't carry it by myself."  
  
Groaning loudly, I heaved myself up from the couch and stumbled towards the kitchen. "This box?"  
  
"Yeah," she answered as she disappeared behind another wall of cardboard boxes. "The one that says `Kitchen stuff.'  
  
Nodding wearily, I strained to pick up the box and slowly carried it over to the kitchen. "This is a good place!" I yelled, not really asking as much as telling her.  
  
She came back into the kitchen and frowned. "Actually, could you bring it -"  
  
"Could you wait a second, please?" I asked tiredly. "I just brought in an apartment's worth of furniture and belongings - let me catch my breath."  
  
"Such a baby," Deb teased, patting me lightly on the back. "I would have helped, you know."  
  
"Right, like I'm going to take help from a woman who's 4 months pregnant," I informed her wryly, walking back over to the couch and collapsing onto it. "You can do all the unpacking."  
  
"Like hell I am!" she exclaimed, opening up the box of kitchen supplies. "Oh, Carter, you mislabeled this one - this is for the baby's room."  
  
"Then it can wait a few months," I murmured, closed my eyes contentedly.  
  
"You wouldn't be so tired if you had actually asked Luka or someone for help," Deb reprimanded.  
  
I shook my head. "Nothing makes people scatter like asking for moving help," I muttered, not willing to tell her the truth - that I hadn't told anyone at work yet. There wasn't any real reason for not mentioning anything, but there didn't seem to be any real reason for bringing it up, either.  
  
"You didn't even move it all yourself," Deb pointed out. "The moving guys brought in the big stuff. Don't be such a wimp."  
  
"Well, I did most of it myself," I replied. "Isn't that what matters?"  
  
She smiled and sat next to me on the couch. "You're right, all that matters is that you're tired and sweaty and sore. But you did it yourself, right?"  
  
I opened one eye to glare at her, then sat up slowly and embraced her in a big sweaty hug. "You're my *angel* . . ." I teased.  
  
Deb squealed indignantly and struggled to get away. "You're disgusting!" she giggled, wrenching out of my grip. "Go take a shower!"  
  
"Too tired for shower," I responded, stretching out on the couch sleepily. "Shower later."  
  
Deb rolled her eyes and stood up. "Fine, shower later." She started to walk back to the kitchen, then stopped and said "John? Can we talk about something?"  
  
"You can talk," I offered. "I'll listen."  
  
"I think we need to figure out some ground rules," she said quickly, and I could tell she'd been thinking about it. "You know, for the whole . . . situation . . ."  
  
"Ground rules?" I opened one eye skeptically. "You giving me a curfew?"  
  
"No, nothing like that," Deb sighed. "Can you be serious for a second, please?"  
  
I turned over on my side and propped myself up on a pillow. "You have my complete attention."  
  
"Well, once the baby comes, we can figure things out a little more accurately," she said, sitting in one of the dining room chairs. "But for now . . . I know you're working and everything, so I don't have a problem doing *some* of the housework -"  
  
"I'll help around the house," I assured her. "I'll help with the baby, I'll help with everything."  
  
Deb was quiet. "We can figure out some kind of system for cooking - you can cook when you don't work nights, and I'll cook when you do, or something . . ."  
  
"I'm arranging to get my schedule a little more standardized," I told her, and it wasn't completely untrue. I had certainly *thought* about getting Kerry to change my schedule, but that meant telling her why . . .  
  
"Hopefully they'll be receptive to that," she responded - then eyed me closely. "Have you told anyone at work yet?"  
  
I grimaced. Damn Deb and her entirely-too-extensive knowledge of my thoughts. "Not as of yet."  
  
"Carter!" she exclaimed. "You haven't even told Susan?"  
  
"I'm planning on telling her soon," I assured her.  
  
"Oh, well, that's a comfort," Deb sighed sarcastically. "Honestly, John . . ."  
  
"I swear!" I said. "She'll know soon. Within the month, at least."  
  
"You promise?"  
  
I nodded complacently. "I promise."  
  
She looked at me skeptically, then stood up and went back to the kitchen. "Oh, and John," she added. "No sex."  
  
I tilted my head, confused. "You're regulating my sex life now?"  
  
"No, no," she told me quickly. "I mean . . . I mean no sex between you and I."  
  
"Ohh." I nodded a little too eagerly. "I understand, of course."  
  
"It would just be awkward, and everything . . ."  
  
"It was just a one night thing . . ."  
  
" . . . the whole thing is going to be hard enough, without having to dodge each other in the hallway . . ."  
  
" . . . plus, I'm seeing someone right now . . ."  
  
Deb stopped, and looked at me for a moment. "Right, you're seeing someone," she repeated. "That's why it wouldn't work."  
  
I nodded, satisfied. "It's going to be fine, Deb," I assured her. "Don't worry so much. Once you over-think something, there's no going back."  
  
"I know." She was quiet for a second, then said "Want a sandwich?"  
  
"Sounds great," I responded comfortably from the couch.  
  
"Great." She passed through the living room and swatted me on the butt with a rolled up newspaper. "No mayo on mine, all right?"  
  
I looked up and glared at her. "I'm exhausted," I complained.  
  
"Oh come on," Deb called from the hallway. "It could have been worse."  
  
"Oh, really?" I asked, sitting up on the couch. "How? You could have actually packed bricks, or something?"  
  
She poked her head back into the living room. "We could be on the second floor," she told me with a wink.  
  
I scowled at her, then begrudgingly got up to make the damn sandwich. God. I was already whipped and I wasn't even sleeping with her. "This must be what marriage is like," I grumbled to myself.  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"So the guy says `I have no idea,' and I'm looking at him and knowing he's lying," Susan continued from across the table. "I ask him again - `where is the dog?' And he says `I don't know,' and various profanities, and finally . . ." She put her fork down and looked at me curiously. "John?"  
  
I shook my head slightly at the mention of my name, breaking off my stare into outer space. "Yeah?"  
  
Susan smiled amusedly. "Am I boring you?"  
  
"No, no," I assured her, looking up from my food to give her a brief smile. "I was listening."  
  
The restaurant was small and cozy - it was the epitome of a romantic evening, right down to the single candle and red rose on the table. I'd been practicing what to say to her for nearly a month now. Even as she talked, my mind was running through the various ways to say "You know how I'm living with another woman? Oh, well by the way, she's having my baby." This was Susan, of course, she was my good friend, an excellent listener . . . but they didn't exactly make Hallmark Cards for this sort of thing.  
  
" . . . you seem distracted."  
  
I looked up - damn, I'd zoned out again. "Hmm?"  
  
Susan sighed. "How was your day?" she asked, and I could tell she was a little annoyed.  
  
"It was fine," I responded blandly, irritated at myself for not just coming out and saying it.  
  
"How are you and Deb doing in the new place?" she asked amicably, taking a sip of wine. "Killed each other yet?"  
  
"Nope, still standing," I responded warily.  
  
Susan nodded and set her glass on the table. "Well, once you get sick of each other, you're welcome to crash at my place," she offered. "It's small and not particularly neat, but there's space if you need it."  
  
I took a deep breath. "Susan, I -"  
  
"Are you sleeping together?" she suddenly asked.  
  
I stared at her in horror. "What?!"  
  
"I just . . . I was thinking about it, and . . ." She smiled guiltily. "You're not, are you?"  
  
"I can honestly tell you that we are not currently sleeping together," I answered slowly.  
  
Just then her cell phone began to ring, and I sighed in disappointed relief. "Hold that thought," she told me, fishing the phone out of her purse. "Hello?" Her brow wrinkled in confusion, and after a moment she handed the phone to me. "It's for you . . . it's Deb."  
  
My face flushed as I reached across the table and took the phone from her. "Deb?"  
  
"Where are you and why isn't your cell phone on?!" she snapped.  
  
"My cell phone?" I reached into my coat pocket and retrieved the phone. "Oh, low battery. Sorry."  
  
"What if I needed you?" she exclaimed furiously. "What if there was an emergency or something?!"  
  
"Well, you found me just fine," I said quietly into the phone. The volume of her voice was attracting stares from everyone around us - including Susan. "Is there an emergency?"  
  
"That's not the point," Deb snapped. "The point is . . . why didn't you have your cell phone on?!"  
  
I attempted to answer her but it was impossible to get a word in edgewise; sheepishly I smiled at Susan and turned away for a moment. "Deb, can we talk about this when I get home?" I murmured. "Please?"  
  
"Why, am I interrupting your date?" She sounded like she was in tears. "Fine, John, fine - we'll talk when you get home. But I can't guarantee that I'll still be here!" There was a loud click as she slammed the phone into the cradle, and rolling my eyes, I handed the cell back to Susan.  
  
"That sounded painful," she commented sympathetically as she put the phone back in her purse. "Everything all right?"  
  
I shrugged. "It's fine," I answered. "She does this at work too - the mood swings are getting the better of her. By the time I get home, she'll be happy again."  
  
Susan looked at me carefully. "Mood swings?"  
  
I felt the blood drain from my face as I realized I'd said exactly the wrong thing. "Yeah . . . she's pregnant."  
  
Susan gaped slightly. "You're kidding!"  
  
I shook my head shyly.  
  
"That's great, though," Susan quickly added. "Tell her I said congratulations." She turned back to her plate, but continued "I didn't even know she was seeing anyone. Is it awkward for you to be there?"  
  
And there it was. "She's not seeing anyone," I responded, praying to some unseen power that Susan would get the hint.  
  
"Ouch." She wrinkled her nose. "Painful break-up?"  
  
"Actually, you know what - I'm the father," I blurted out in a rushed breath. My eyes darted from my plate to Susan's face, then back down again. Maybe I didn't want to see her expression, after all.  
  
But after an extended moment of silence, I looked back up at her. She was staring at me with something between confusion and awe. "Say something," I murmured nervously.  
  
Susan shook her head slowly, a suspicious smile growing on her face. "I thought you weren't sleeping with her," she finally chuckled.  
  
I scratched the back of my head self-consciously. "We're not sleeping together *anymore,*" I offered helpfully. But before she could say anything I added "It was a one-time thing, sort of spur of the moment, it happened more than four months ago - and it's not going to happen again."  
  
Susan smiled briefly. "Carter, I trust you." She sounded a little patronizing. "Why did it take you 4 months to tell me?"  
  
I shrugged. I felt slightly relieved but a little annoyed - she hadn't blown up at me, which was good. But why hadn't she? "I'm sorry," I apologized. "I didn't know how you'd react."  
  
"I'm fine," Susan said, putting a hand on her chest. "I mean, it's going to take some getting used to . . . John Carter, as a father . . ." She smiled and squeezed my hand. "You're going to be a great father."  
  
I nodded, not quite in agreement but in understanding. Susan had no way of knowing how many nights I'd stared at the ceiling, pondering this prediction. It was so easy to be a perfect father idealistically, but it was just as easy to be a terrible father in real life. Every day in the ER I saw fathers crying over their children, cursing themselves for one wrong move in raising them, one misstep in their child's life . . . "I hope you're right," I answered with a half-hearted smile.  
  
"And actually, this will be good for me," Susan continued brightly. "I've dated all sorts of guys with all sorts of issues - I'm always up for a challenge."  
  
There was that twinge in the conversation again, where she'd said something so ambiguous that it was impossible not to interpret it badly. "Issues?"  
  
"Well, yeah," Susan admitted, taking a sip of wine. "I didn't mean it in a bad way, of course, I just meant . . . well, you know . . ."  
  
"No, I don't," I informed her, trying not to sound too confrontational.  
  
"Come on, Carter," Susan said with a teasing grin. "You have to admit, it's not exactly a conventional relationship anymore."  
  
"It was conventional before?"  
  
Susan rolled her eyes. "You're being so sensitive tonight," she commented. "I didn't mean anything by it, all right?"  
  
"I just don't understand why you would consider Deb having a baby an `issue,'" I retorted, suddenly feeling defensive.  
  
"Deb having a baby isn't an issue," Susan answered. "It's *you* and Deb having a baby that makes it an issue."  
  
I shook my head discontentedly. "I knew it," I muttered. "I knew you weren't going to be all right with this."  
  
"I'm fine with this, Carter," Susan sighed. "I just don't understand why you can't admit that this is even *slightly* weird -"  
  
I stared at her. "Oh, so it's weird now?"  
  
"Carter-" Susan began, but the waiter came by and dropped off the bill. "Thanks," she told him with a smile. She turned back to me and sighed. "You can't honestly tell me that if the shoe were on the other foot, you wouldn't think it was a little weird."  
  
"I wouldn't," I informed her, crossing my arms over my chest.  
  
"So, if I was pregnant and I moved in with one of my ex-boyfriends - who happened to be the father - you wouldn't think that was even a little odd?"  
  
"There's a difference," I pointed out. "Deb was never my girlfriend."  
  
She gave me a tight smile. "You've had four months to get used to this," she told me. "I've had four minutes. Cut me some slack."  
  
I was quiet for a long time. "Deb and I have talked about this for a long time," I said finally. "Yeah, I know it's not traditional, and it's not going to be easy, but we've decided that it's going to work out. We've figured out the problems and everything, and . . ." I shook my head again. "It's not an `issue,' and it's not `weird.' Just because it's never been done before doesn't mean it *can't* be done."  
  
"I'm sure it's been done before," Susan commented.  
  
"Not successfully." I twirled my fork in my hand unconsciously. "This is going to work out. It's really the best option, if you think about it - Deb is my best friend, we already know that we get along well."  
  
"You don't think adding a baby to the mix is going to change that?" Susan asked skeptically. Just then her cell phone rang again, and she chuckled when she saw the number. "It's Deb again."  
  
I grimaced. "I'd better be going, then," I told her as I stood up. "I'm sorry -"  
  
Susan waved a hand at me. "Don't worry about it," she smiled. "You've got a lot on your mind. I'll call you later?"  
  
I nodded and kissed her softly on the lips. "I'll be waiting," I responded, and didn't let the smile fade until I was out of sight. Suddenly I just wanted to be in the comfort of my own conscious, where saying things over and over and over made them true, and I wasn't so easily irritated when others didn't feel the same way . . .  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------  
  
When I got home Deb was sobbing uncontrollably. She was curled on the couch and crying into a couch cushion, with dozens of crumpled tissues surrounding her. Sighing, I approached her cautiously and said "Deb?"  
  
Deb looked up quickly, noticing me for the first time. "John!" she wailed, and burst into tears again.  
  
I wanted to ask if she was all right, but it seemed like a pretty dumb question to ask. Instead I sat next to her on the couch and wrapped her into an embrace. She crawled into my arms, and I felt a sense of relief upon realizing that she wasn't still mad at me. "What's wrong?"  
  
"It's so sad," she sobbed into my shoulder. "I . . . just . . ."  
  
"What?" Suddenly worried, I pulled away and looked her in the eye. "Deb, what's wrong? Are you ok? Is the baby ok?"  
  
She nodded distractedly and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She tried to say something else, but collapsed in another fit of tears. Her eyes flickered towards the TV - I turned to the screen and smiled in relief. "Has there been a tragedy on Sesame Street?" I teased.  
  
"It's not funny!" she wailed. "I was watching it . . . there was this little boy who wanted to know the alphabet, and the thing . . . the blue thing . . ."  
  
"Cookie Monster?" I asked, amused.  
  
"Yeah . . ." Deb sniffed and snuggled into my shoulder. "He was teaching him, and . . ." Her eyes filled with tears again. "What if I can't teach my baby the alphabet??"  
  
"You're going to be able to teach the baby about the alphabet," I chuckled. "Don't worry about that."  
  
"No, John . . . what if I can't teach the baby other things?" She looked me in the eye, her lip quivering. "How do I teach the baby to talk, or walk, or with algebra homework . . ."  
  
I rubbed her back soothingly. "They all come naturally," I assured her. "Well, maybe not algebra . . . maybe by the time he or she is in high school, they'll have banned algebra from the school system."  
  
Deb nodded and wiped her eyes. "Yeah, I guess," she murmured, smiling slightly. "Thanks, John. It's just so overwhelming . . ."  
  
"I know, I know," I told her soothingly. "I know how you feel." I kissed the top of her head assuredly. The good thing about hormonal mood swings was that they seemed to change fairly often. "Hey, I told Susan tonight . . ."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Deb asked, shifting out of my lap. "How did she take it?"  
  
"Pretty well," I considered. "She didn't run screaming from the building, if that's what you mean. She says congratulations."  
  
"Tell her thanks," she responded, standing up and turning off the television. "Although I'm pretty sure you thanked her in your own way. You want some ice cream?"  
  
"Do we have anything besides that pistachio crap?" I asked.  
  
Deb opened up the freezer and rummaged around. "We've got seven containers of that pistachio crap," she commented, pulling one out and shutting the freezer door. "And I don't know when my craving is going to change, so we need to finish it off as quickly as possible."  
  
I scowled and shook my head. "Why does chocolate have to make you nauseous?" I called out from the couch. "Why not vanilla or something that I wouldn't eat anyway?"  
  
Deb shrugged as she opened the utensil drawer and took out a spoon. "I don't control the baby's whims," she informed me, leaning against the counter and digging into her ice cream. "Baby wants pistachio, I say, bring on the pistachio."  
  
I shook my head and stood up. "You don't know what you're missing," I sighed, putting my hand on Deb's belly. "You're not even born yet and you've never had a Hershey's Bar, or Ben and Jerry's, or chocolate covered cherries . . ."  
  
Deb stared at me. "You trying to make me throw up right now?" she demanded.  
  
I grinned. "Sorry." Just then I felt a flutter against my hand, and my eyes widened. "The baby's moving around again," I told Deb quickly.  
  
"Really?" she asked wryly. "I couldn't tell, what with my uterus being in the way of your hand and everything." She sighed and took another bite of ice cream. "God, I'm getting huge . . ."  
  
"Oh come on, you're-"  
  
She glared at me. "Don't even try to deny it," she retorted, pointing the spoon at me with every word. "Look at me, I'm an elephant!"  
  
I ran my hand along her stomach contemplatively. "You're almost five months pregnant, what did you expect?"  
  
"I don't know," she sighed. "Today I went shopping and I got The Look."  
  
"The Look?"  
  
"You know, that sideways glance everyone gives you when you're noticeably pregnant." She looked at me and smiled. "All right, so maybe you don't know what I mean . . ."  
  
"Come on, it's from your happy maternal glow," I told her with a grin. "They're all jealous."  
  
"Carter, they're looking at my hand," she informed me, holding up her bare left hand. "They're looking for a ring."  
  
I frowned at this. "No, I don't think people are as perceptive as that," I told her. "Maybe you're reading too much into this?"  
  
"No, I'm not," she quipped, putting the cover back on the ice cream. "The saleswomen do it the most. They give me this huge, congratulatory smile, then their eyes go to my hand, and when they don't see a ring, they treat me differently."  
  
I shook my head. "I don't know . . . people can be judgmental, but . . ."  
  
"Not people," Deb corrected me. "Women."  
  
"Well, it doesn't matter anyway," I told her as I slung an arm around her shoulders. "They wouldn't understand even if you tried to explain. Trust me."  
  
She sighed and rested against me comfortably. "Feel like doing me a favor?"  
  
I smiled and held up my keys. "I was planning on it," I told her. "What flavor do you want?"  
  
---------------------------------------------------  
  
"All right . . . Tiffany?"  
  
"Tiffany?!"  
  
"Tiffany's a nice name, it seems happy, cheerful . . ."  
  
"John, no, we are not naming our child after the music idol of the 80's."  
  
"Okay, you think of something better then."  
  
"Um . . . Marie, Maria, Angelina -"  
  
"As in Jolie?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess . . ."  
  
"Nope, can't name my baby after a woman I've had illicit dreams about."  
  
"That probably goes for Tiffany, too -"  
  
"Sadly, yes."  
  
"Ha!"  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"Ummm, over there," Deb called out from the hallway.  
  
I turned around incredulously. "You want me to assemble the crib in the middle of the living room?"  
  
"Sure, why not?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe. "We can move it later if we want."  
  
I chuckled. "You mean, *I* can move it later if *you* want."  
  
She smiled sweetly. "Of course that's what I mean. Now be a good handyman and build the crib."  
  
I paused. "What about the rest of the baby furniture?"  
  
"That stuff doesn't require too much work," she told me. "You *can* do it, right?"  
  
I eyed the box of various pieces of a crib. "Hand me the screwdriver," I said menacingly, and Deb rolled her eyes in amusement.  
  
---------------------------------------------------  
  
"Andrew, Charles, William . . ."  
  
"Naming various members of British royalty?"  
  
"Nah, various members of Carter royalty."  
  
"Ick - we're not naming the baby after any of your uncles."  
  
"Well, what about John?"  
  
"John the fourth?"  
  
"Yeah - it's traditional, it's respectable . . ."  
  
"It's dull . . ."  
  
"Dull?? I've been John my whole life and I never thought it was dull!"  
  
"Oh, well, it's not dull when we're talking about *you* . . . I just couldn't name my baby anything like that. "It's so . . . blehhh . . ."  
  
" `Bleh?' The name that's been passed down from generation to generation in my family is `bleh?'"  
  
"Come on, we can pick something better for our child than an ageless punishment."  
  
"Hey!-"  
  
--------------------------------------------  
  
I looked up from the TV as Deb stormed through the front door. "Bad day?"  
  
"I hate my family," she snapped, heading right to the kitchen and tearing the freezer open.  
  
"They didn't take it well?" I asked tentatively.  
  
She pulled out a container of ice cream and slammed the freezer closed. "I didn't even get a chance to tell them! My mother didn't even let me get a word in edgewise?"  
  
I looked at her skeptically - my gaze shifted to her midsection. "They couldn't just guess?"  
  
She pursed her lips and paused before opening the ice cream. "I didn't exactly stop by," she admitted. "I kind of made a phone call."  
  
"You were going to break this to them over the phone?" I exclaimed. "Did you really think they were going to react any better that way?"  
  
"I chickened out, I know!" Deb snapped, taking a huge bite of ice cream. "But I just . . . couldn't face them again, 5 months pregnant . . ."  
  
I sighed. "You know, my family is just as conservative as yours, and they took it pretty well."  
  
She glared at me. "You told your grandmother, and she would accept you if you had an arm growing out of your head."  
  
"No, I told my parents too," I informed her. "They were all right with it, too."  
  
She shook her head angrily. "Damn you and your functional family!" she hollered, throwing the spoon across the room and storming into her bedroom.  
  
Sighing, I closed my eyes wearily - then took out a new spoon and took a bite of the goddawful ice cream. Deb was improving with every passing day, but every once in a while, something would set her back . . . her family seemed to be the best tool for atrophy in Deb.  
  
----------------------------------------------  
  
"Jackie."  
  
"No."  
  
"Jane."  
  
"No."  
  
"Jamie."  
  
"No."  
  
"Jennifer."  
  
"Ew, no."  
  
"Josephine."  
  
"No."  
  
"Jigilo."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It says right here - Jigilo."  
  
"You're kidding me!"  
  
"That would be a *cool* name."  
  
"For a little kid?"  
  
"For a cool little kid."  
  
"For a little *girl*?"  
  
"Fine . . . Jolene."  
  
"No."  
  
--------------------------------------------  
  
I stood up grandly and held out my arms. "Behold - the 7^th Wonder of the World . . ."  
  
Deb crossed her arms and nodded in approval. "It's nice. You did a good job."  
  
I patted the side of the crib proudly. "And it only took me three weeks to do it between shifts," I announced.  
  
Deb turned around to look down the hall. "Is it going to fit through the hallway?"  
  
My smiled faded. "Of course it is."  
  
Deb squinted at the crib, then back at the hallway. "I think it's too big."  
  
"It's *not,*" I insisted, dragging the crib over to the hallway. "If I just . . . turn it . . . or something . . ."  
  
Deb chuckled. "You've got three weeks to spare, right?"  
  
----------------------------------------------  
  
"Katie, Kaylie, Kelly, Kerry -"  
  
"Ugh."  
  
"Hey, I'm just reading the list here. They also spell it `Kari, Carrie, and Ceri."  
  
"Ceri?"  
  
"Yeah. Don't ask me."  
  
"This is dumb - we're just picking names we like. What if the baby hates us forever because they hate the name we gave them?"  
  
"Yeah, that's true. But we can't exactly tell the baby's personality pre-natally, so what can we do?"  
  
"We could pick names of people we admire, people we love . . ."  
  
"Like *John*?"  
  
"We've been down this road before - drop it already.  
  
"Yeah, all right. Hey . . . what about Susan?"  
  
"Trying to kiss ass with your girlfriend?"  
  
"No, Susan's just a nice name."  
  
" `Mommy, how come you and Daddy named me Susan?' `Oh, sweetheart, Susan is the name of the woman Daddy was sleeping with when Mommy was pregnant with you.' "  
  
"Ha ha. Well, what about relatives?"  
  
"We've been there too . . ."  
  
"I haven't named any females in my family."  
  
"All right, fine - what's your mother's name again?"  
  
"Eleanor."  
  
"Ooh, that's kind of pretty -"  
  
"We're not naming our baby after my mother. In fact, nix the whole Carter family name thing - there's only one woman in my family worth naming anyone after."  
  
"Well, all right. What's your grandmother's name?"  
  
"Millicent."  
  
"Oh. That's . . . that's kind of nice . . ."  
  
"Don't worry, we don't have to name the baby Millicent."  
  
"Good . . ."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Deb held up a tiny blue dress. "How cute is this?" she exclaimed.  
  
I leaned on the handle of the shopping cart and frowned. "Kind of skanky for an infant," I commented.  
  
Deb scowled and smacked me on the arm. "It's for me," she told me, holding up the sleeveless dress once again. "Too slutty?"  
  
I shrugged, not sure how to ask if the dress came in a maternity size. "Nah, just slutty enough."  
  
Deb looked at the dress and sadly put it back on the rack. "I guess I'll have to wait a while," she sighed.  
  
"Nah, only 3 months to go," I encouraged. "Then you can wear all the skanky dresses you want."  
  
She stared at me. "I'm never going to shrink back to my normal size immediately after the baby's born," she quipped, unconsciously putting her hand on her expanding belly. "I'm going to be wearing maternity clothes for the rest of my life . . ."  
  
"Well, it's a good thing they're cute," I offered, fully unsure as to approach this topic. We'd been living together for three months now, we'd known each other for years beforehand - but I was still clueless when it came to handling compliments about weight.  
  
"Yeah, cute like a circus tent," Deb muttered, strolling beside the cart as I pushed it down the aisle. "So, are we going to buy baby things today or am I going to keep finding clothes I'm never going to be able to wear again?"  
  
I gestured to the overflowing cart in front of me. "What do you call all this stuff?"  
  
Deb looked at me innocently. "One cart? Are you kidding me?" She laughed and continued to walk alongside the cart. "I call that a warm-up."  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"Blake."  
  
"Blake?!"  
  
"Max."  
  
"Naah."  
  
"Pacey."  
  
"All right, that's where I draw the line. No son of mine will be named Pacey."  
  
"Ummm . . . Spike."  
  
"Deb, for the last time, you're not going to find any names from the TV. Just come back in here and we'll look over the baby book again."  
  
"I hate the baby book. I'm not naming the baby anything from that damn book."  
  
"It's got every baby name in the English language - we're going to find at least one name we can agree on."  
  
"I like my method."  
  
"Deb . . ."  
  
"Ross, Joey, Chandler . . ."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------  
  
"I don't want to say you're taking a long time," Deb called from the sofa, "but I think someone agrees with me."  
  
I tried to ignore her as I tossed the salad. No one ever seemed to mention how difficult tossing a freaking salad was . . . "I'm almost done," I called out.  
  
Deb sighed and propped her legs up on the arm of the couch. "I could have ordered pizza by now, you know!"  
  
"Pizza gives you heartburn."  
  
"I have heartburn all the time anyway," Deb informed me. "At least I'd be able to eat when I'm hungry!"  
  
I delicately positioned the dinner plate and glass on the TV tray and brought it out to her. "I'm apologizing in advance for any aversions I didn't know about."  
  
"I have an aversion to your cooking in general, John," she teased, picking up the fork and taking a bite of salad. "But I'm so hungry, I think I can ignore it."  
  
I smiled. "That's very gracious of you." I stuck my hands in my coat pockets - and my eyes widened when they brushed against a small box. "God, I almost forgot," I murmured.  
  
"Almost forgot what?" Deb asked.  
  
Shyly I pulled out the small velvet box and placed it on the tray. "Open it," I urged.  
  
Deb looked at me curiously as she picked up the box, opened it - and gasped.  
  
Her jaw seemed to hit the floor, and when she took out the elegant diamond ring, I smiled to myself. "Do you like it?"  
  
"John . . . I . . ." She looked up at me and swallowed hard. "I don't know, John . . ."  
  
Suddenly I understood what she was thinking. "Oh, no, no no no, it's not what you think," I insisted.  
  
"You're not asking me to marry you?" Deb asked, and for the life of me I couldn't read the expression on her face.  
  
"No," I answered, shaking my head adamantly. "It's . . . do you remember what you said about how people look at you differently when you're not wearing a ring?" She nodded vaguely. "Well, I was in the jewelry store and I happened to see it . . . it's just to make you feel better whenever anyone . . . it'll remind you that someone does care about you . . ." I shook my head, humiliated. "It's stupid, I know . . ."  
  
"No," Deb told me quickly. "No, it's really sweet." Her eyes welled with tears and she smiled at me gratefully. "It's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."  
  
I grinned self-consciously. "Do you like it, though?"  
  
"I love it," Deb whispered, slipping it onto her finger and admiring it. "Thank you."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Stanley."  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Cynthia."  
  
"No."  
  
"Um . . .Dragon."  
  
"Nah."  
  
"Snake."  
  
"Nuh - uh."  
  
"Flamingo."  
  
"What was that last one?"  
  
"Never mind."  
  
"Nuh-uh."  
  
------------------------------------------------------  
  
Deb paced the waiting room frantically. "I don't, I don't, I don't," she repeated to herself. "I don't, I don't . . ."  
  
I eyed her from my seat in the waiting room. "Are you sure this time?"  
  
"I'm sure." She stopped pacing and gave me a nervous smile. "I don't. I want it to be a surprise."  
  
I grinned and grasped her hand soothingly. "And you're sure?"  
  
She nodded quickly and attempted to sit down - immediately I stood to help her. "I'm so *pregnant, *" she complained as she eased into the seat.  
  
"Jing-Mei Chen?"  
  
Deb's eyes darted up and she squeezed my hand tightly. "Here we go," she murmured, twisting her ring nervously.  
  
I smiled and helped her up again. "Come on, it's like every OB visit we've had so far," I assured her, putting my hand on her back as we crossed the living room. "Especially since we don't want to know."  
  
Deb nodded, but bit her lip. "I changed my mind, I want to know," she said quickly.  
  
"What?!"  
  
The nurse at the door smiled gently at us. "You're the father?" she asked, and I nodded distractedly. For as many times as she'd seen us before, you'd think she would recognize us . . .  
  
We made our way to the right exam room, and when we were alone, Deb looked at me guiltily. "If you don't want to know, you can step outside for a second . . ."  
  
I shook my head. "I'm willing to do whatever you want to do," I told her, not willing to express how much I loathed making personal decisions. "If you want to know, then we'll know."  
  
She smiled and squeezed my hand. "We're going to find out if we're having a girl or a boy . . ."  
  
Just then the OB walked in and smiled at us. "Hello," she greeted, and Deb didn't make any attempt to hide her scowl. She hated this woman and I knew it. "How are you doing today?"  
  
"My ankles hurt, I'm bloated to hell, and you're late again," Deb quipped.  
  
The woman's smile was strained. "I'm going to miss you two after you have the baby next month," she told us.  
  
"Right," Deb grumbled.  
  
"So - I hear you want to find out the sex today," the OB continued. "You're 8 months along, so there's a good chance we'll -"  
  
"I don't want to know," Deb interrupted suddenly. I stared at her and she looked at me frantically. "I don't, I don't, I don't."  
  
"O-kay," the OB said brightly. "Want to change into the gown for me?"  
  
Deb sighed and snatched the gown from her. "I don't," she told her once more, as if she was reminding her.  
  
"I believe you," she said obediently, and I tried not to laugh.  
  
Moments later Deb was changed and we were all staring at the image on the ultrasound screen. "Everything looks good," the OB commented. "Big baby."  
  
"You're telling me," Deb muttered wryly.  
  
"You sure you don't want to know the sex?" she asked.  
  
I was about to respond with something sarcastic just to save Deb the trouble, when she interrupted with "Yes, we do."  
  
I shook my head incredulously. "Are you *sure*?"  
  
"Does it sound like I'm sure?!" Deb hissed.  
  
The OB nodded and bit her lip contemplatively. "Unfortunately, the baby's making it difficult for us," she said with a frown. "I can't see anything."  
  
I cringed, knowing what was going to happen. Deb had told off this OB so often, you could set your watch by it . . .  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"My mother's going to want the baby to have a Chinese name."  
  
"Oh, right . . . family names, or something?"  
  
"It depends. I'll have to find some I like, or that my mother likes."  
  
"Have you -"  
  
"Don't want to talk about it."  
  
"Gotcha."  
  
"What last name is this baby going to have? Did we decide that yet?"  
  
"Oh, the whole Carter-Chen/Chen-Carter fiasco. Do we need to open that wound again?"  
  
"Do you want your baby to have a last name?"  
  
"Good point."  
  
"Well, how about this - Carter if it's a boy, Chen if it's a girl?"  
  
"That sounds awfully simple . . ."  
  
"No?"  
  
"No, I like it, But what if you have twins - a boy and a girl?"  
  
"Do you want me to claw your eyes out?"  
  
-----------------------------------------------  
  
I looked up from the couch as Deb stormed in. "Hello?"  
  
"I don't want to talk right now," Deb snapped, and as she slammed her bedroom door behind her, I could hear her crying.  
  
There was a knock at the door before I could even think about comforting Deb. I stood up, slightly bewildered, and answered the door. "Mrs. Chen?" I asked, surprised.  
  
Deb's mother seemed irritated at my presence. "I need to talk to Jing-Mei," she informed me.  
  
"I . . . don't know if she's home," I said slowly.  
  
Mrs. Chen shook her head. "I just saw her come in here," she retorted. "Let me talk to her."  
  
Conflicted, I looked behind me and then back at Mrs. Chen. "Come in," I finally said, opening the door for her.  
  
She stepped through the doorway and glanced around the apartment. "Sorry for the mess," I apologized, shutting the door behind her. "Deb's due any day, and we haven't really gotten a chance to clean up . . ." I suddenly realized that I may have said too much, and quickly I added "I mean, Deb's . . . been sick . . ."  
  
Mrs. Chen shook her head distractedly. "I know about the baby," she told me, eyeing the hallway. "She came to the house and told us."  
  
"Really?" I was impressed. Deb had finally faced her demons - and it had only taken 9 months.  
  
"I just don't know why she didn't tell us," Mrs. Chen told me irritably. "The first time, she jumped to conclusions, and now this time . . ."  
  
"Are you sure she jumped to conclusions?" I asked carefully. "She's always been afraid of your judgment - of the whole family's judgment."  
  
"But that's ridiculous," she stated. "She told me the same thing a few minutes ago and I don't understand it! Of course her father and I would accept a grandchild -any grandchild she gave us."  
  
I sighed and looked towards the bedroom door. "I'm not sure she believes that," I told her.  
  
At that moment Deb's bedroom door cracked open. "John?"  
  
Quickly I stepped down the hall and approached her bedroom. "You all right?"  
  
"No, John . . ." She swallowed a sob and whispered "My water broke." 


End file.
